


One Fairytale, No Sugar Added

by writteninthestarsforlou



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: Artist AU, Fantasy, M/M, Ordinary Louis, Prince Harry - Freeform, Royalty AU, This isn't like Cinderella
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninthestarsforlou/pseuds/writteninthestarsforlou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People do not grow too old for fairy tales. They just grow old of the sugar-coating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ! In case you have been keeping tabs on my other story, Rose-Colored Glasses, I have not abandoned it ! I'm just starting to post my other story that I've been working on to tide everyone over while I work more on RCG. This one is practically finished, so it will be posted periodically, while RCG is going to be posted more sporadically. I hope you like this one just as much ! LEAVE COMMENTS AND KUDOS xxx

_ Most fairy tales tend to begin with “Once upon a time…”, and it would be proper to start off such a story this way. However, people have come to believe that fairy tales are simply foolish, ignorant concepts that hopeless romantics cling to for one last chance, that they’re advertising campaigns to sell lingerie and chocolate bars. People now believe that fairy tales are ridiculous and that they have grown too old for them. _

_ This isn’t entirely true. _

_ The fact is that people do not grow too old for fairy tales; it is that they grow old of the sugar-coating. No one is too old for a fairy tale, given that it is a story that is told in a way that tugs at the heart strings, makes you laugh, cry, and all of the emotional luggage in between. _

_ All you need is one protagonist with a relatable, yet magically charming side such as, let’s say, a silversmith’s son with a heart of gold but ice within his eyes and an ethereal, endearingly hopeless co-protagonist. We can make him a young prince who sees the world in its fullest potential but has no clue how he is supposed to make it that way on his own clumsy legs. Add a little bit of complexity, frustration, and emotional attachment, and you have the perfect fairy tale, a recipe with no sugar added. _

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A boy sat in the attic of his little home, painting the image of the midday sky in his single window. Despite the room he was in being as small as it was, it was warm and bright with natural light rays streaming in, little dust particles fluttering around in the air. The boards of the wooden floor groaned from old age as the boy bounced his right foot on the floor, his left leg swung gracelessly on the thin mattress he sat on. He had a thick, well-used sketch pad propped up on his hip bones, and he cautiously stroked the page with strong, defined lines of ink. The boy’s blue eyes were entirely focused on bouncing back and forth between the drawing and the window, and he was the epitome of repose. Although his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth and his caramel brows were knitted together in concentration, he maintained an elegant sort of demeanor, undisturbed, pure, and seemingly fragile.

Or so he thought.

“Louis!” A scratchy voice called from somewhere below him. The boy sighed, giving the window above him a fleeting, apologetic glance before setting down his pad and brush.

“Yes, father?” He replied. Louis stood up, groaning with the floor boards and putting his hands on the small of his back, pushing his hips forward until he heard a satisfying crack. He padded towards the chipping door on the opposite wall of his room.

“The silver is ready. I’m heading to the palace soon.”

“Alright,” Louis called through the door, confusion and possibly suspicion lacing his tone. When he opened the door, he was met with his father’s figure standing before him.

He looked much older than his forty-six years. His hair was beginning to grey with stress and being overworked, but you could tell just by looking at him that he didn’t seem to mind if his laughter lines and permanent crow’s feet were anything to go by. His blue eyes were also greying, and they looked tired, exhausted even but so so wise. The man’s hands were worn, calloused, and littered with little scars and burns, but they weren’t disturbing to Louis or anyone in their village because they all knew the man he was, the time and heart he put into his craft. Louis was proud of his father every time he saw him. It was especially after one of his little artistic episodes that Louis would recognize his father in such a detailed way.

There was a muffled sound that Louis briefly caught in his ear. “Pardon?” He asked. His father chuckled, airy and deep.

“I asked,” he said slowly, a smile working its way onto his scruffy face, “if you wanted to come with me.”

“Where? To the  _ palace _ ? You’re joking with me, surely.”

“Why would I be?”

“I,” Louis paused, disbelief evident on his features, “I don’t know.” Louis breathed out, searching his father’s face for any sign that he was being anything but serious, and when he found none, his face broke out into a radiant grin. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” his father practically sang. The elder man got the wind knocked out of him as Louis’ body crashed into his in a bone-crushing embrace.

“Yes! Of course I’ll go! This is a dream. It has to be. Pinch me, please.” Louis proceeded to do just that and his father grinned when there was no change. Louis side-stepped his father and bounded down the steep, wooden staircase, excitement rolling off of his body in waves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ride to the palace in itself was beautiful to Louis. He wasn’t new to the upper class sections of the city in any sense of the word, but the fact that he was headed towards the palace made the trip magical, as cliche as it sounded.

He was furiously sketching the palace in the distance, trying his best to capture every detail before it was too late. His father leaned over in his seat, making sure to have a steady grip on the reigns of the horses as he did so.

“You really do have a knack for that, don’t you?”

Without looking away from his drawing, Louis hummed. “Everyone has their hobbies.”

“You think you’re going to make a living out of it one day?”

Louis halted his movements for a fraction of a second before responding, “I thought you would want me to take over the family business and all that.”

His father collapsed into full belly laughs, shaking where he sat and wiping tears from his eyes. “You think that I would have you continue my line of work with those dainty fingers? You’d be done in an hour.”

Louis squawked in feigned offense and  laughed along with his father, nudging him with this elbow and smiling so much that it hurt the apples of his cheeks. It was then that he noticed that they were at the gates of the castle, and his blood immediately ran cold.

“Under the name Tomlinson? I am here to deliver the new silver dishware for the royal ball,” his father called to the guard who sat in a little tower near the top of the gates. He gave a response that Louis was unable to identify, but he assumed it was something good as the gates began to slowly sweep open.

A huddle of guards stopped them from going further as they examined the cart and doing body checks as well. The inspection took long enough or Louis to feel slightly offended, but eventually they were told that they were free to go into the palace grounds.

_ Well,  _ Louis thought to himself,  _ this is it. Get your shit together. _

They rolled into a gravel gravel drive wrapped in willow trees on both sides. Louis pulled out his things and began to draw what was ahead. It wasn't too terribly long as you could see where it opened up to what was presumably the castle’s main entrance and drive. This was where all of the carriages would pull into for the ball, Louis assumed.

Light engulfed the wagon as they emerged from the small road and were greeted with the palace in all of its glory. Louis put a hand to his brows to look up in the bright day, and he a hint of a gasp escaped his lips at the sight before him.

Even before the building itself, Louis was absolutely entranced by the courtyard that they were currently stopped in. Cobblestone pathways and hedges made up the majority of the ground structure, but massive, professionally cut trees and bushes were in organized rows along the perimeter, large white flowers almost finished blooming peeking between the leaves.

“Come back to us, please. Hello? Boy, I swear…” Louis slowly returned from his reverie and apologized to his father as he leapt out of the cart and greeted the staff that were approaching.

Louis, along with a few of the palace’s staff members, helped unload the mass amounts of silver from their wagon, carrying stacks by stacks inside in a seemingly never-ending flow. Louis smiled at the staff members that passed him, giving them greetings or simple conversational comments here and there. At one point in the process, he heard a loud crash followed by a murmured string of colourful curses, causing him to snap his head to the left, where a young man was crouched over a number of silver dishes scattered on the ground. Naturally, Louis scurried over and began to help  with picking up the plates.

“Need a hand?” He offered, setting the silver back into a neat stack one by one. The boy didn’t look up, his blonde hair blowing wildly in the breeze and in his haste to clean up his mess.

“You really don’t have to help.” Louis noted the thick Irish lilt in the boy’s voice. “Thank you, though.”

“It’s no problem. I have butterfingers myself, so it would be rude of me to not help a fellow klutz in need, yeah?”

Louis giggled, and the boy in front of him finally met his face. The boy also had blue eyes, though Louis considered them to be much more enticing than his own, and his face was boyish save for the light scruff that lined his jaw and lips. He was pale as the paper in Louis’ sketchpad, but his cheeks were dusted with pink from staying in the sun too long. In short, Louis would love to draw him one day, odd as it may sound.

The boy blinked once as he stared at Louis for a moment, a long breath exhaling from his thin lips. “Woah,” he whispered, mostly to himself, making Louis squirm a little under the inspection. The boy made a strangled noise as he shook his head and stood up at his full height, his knees popping at the rapid motion. “I’m so sorry,” he sputtered, balancing the plates in his hands, “You shouldn’t have had to do that. You don’t work for the palace, right? I would have remembered you for sure,” he rambled, grimacing at his last comment. “I don’t mean that in a strange way. Just. You’re very… your face is very… memorable. I’m Niall,” he sighed, defeated.

Louis giggled again, Niall grinning at the sound. “I’m Louis, and no, I do not work for the castle. I’m the one who brought those dishes you just dropped.”

Niall’s eyes widened, and before he could spit out a stream of apologies, Louis put a hand up to stop him. “I’m kidding with you. No need to get so worked up, love.” Niall’s face flushed at the endearment, and gave his thanks once more before jogging up the steps to the castle’s entrance. Louis was left amused and enamoured by the anxious servant. He hoped to see him again at some point, though he knew the chances were slim to none.

As the dishes were finished being put inside, Louis’ father was to report to the head of the party planning committee or something of the sort, so Louis took his time to explore the palace, sketchpad in hand.

He wandered the halls and found himself involved in small talk with the staff, who all seemed to like him well enough. He saw the grand staircases and foyers, a couple of the ballrooms and the main dining hall, but his favorite area by far was the gardens. There was just so much space and so many different types of flowers. There was even a little waist-high maze that led to a fountain area. It was more than anything Louis could even begin to comprehend.

He had stationed himself on the railing of a small gazebo, drawing the ivy that wrapped around the poles and inner roof of the little establishment. A small smile graced his lips as he seamlessly slipped into his artistic mind-state. The pen seemed to just glide across the parchment on its own accord, weighted lines and shading just appearing, it seemed. He hummed quietly to himself a tune that he only recognized in his subconscious. He vaguely registered it as a tune he heard in the village the other morning on his way to the market, but he knew he was probably wrong.

The blend of humming and drawing had him hypnotized to the point where he could not process that there was someone else in the garden near him.

As the other person wandered the gardens, Louis’ gentle lullaby of sorts absorbed all of their senses. Almost as if in a daze, the figure glided over closer and closer to the noise until they feared they would never find the source of it. It had been a number of minutes before the person did a double take into the gazebo to their right, where a young man was curled up on one of the railings, writing or drawing they concluded.

Unaware that he had an audience, Louis continued on in his little bubble, blissfully alone as far as he was concerned. Even further from his mind was the fact that his so-called audience consisted of none other than Prince Harry Edward Styles, the heir to the throne that he was currently in the premises of.

He cut his song short as he finished his sketch, observing it with intensity and scrutiny. Harry silently walked next to Louis, standing less than arm’s length behind him. He leaned forward just a hair to see the drawing as well, momentarily intoxicated by the smaller boy’s lingering scent. He smelled of burning incense and something floral that he couldn’t identify, but he knew it was too sweet and strong to simply be the garden.

He didn’t want to say anything in fear the boy may just disappear, but he rolled his eyes at himself for thinking such a preposterous thing. “You draw very well,” he started with. Before he got his third word out, the boy had yelped and swung his arms unsuccessfully to keep balance, falling into the flower bed below. Harry tried to hold back his laughter, but he couldn’t help letting out his boyish howl at the sight. His smile faded when he realized two things. One, there was a stranger in his garden and two, said beautiful stranger may actually be hurt.

Harry leaned over the edge of the railing, his lips puckered and shifting from left to right quickly, his eyes blank. “Are you all right down there? That was quite a fall. Here,” he offered, reaching his hand down, “Let me-”

“ _ Are you out of your bloody mind _ ?” A raspy voice shouted from the bushes. The boy was staring at him with exasperation and shock. Harry leaned back, affronted and offended. No matter how alluring the stranger was, disrespect for the future king would  _ not  _ be tolerated. Though, Harry thought to himself fleetingly, he did make disrespect look quite adorable.

“Excuse me? Do you know to whom you are speaking?” Harry asked, attempting to maintain a tone of authority, but the boy with flower petals in his hair was making it increasingly difficult to keep his composure.

“A prick,” the boy stated, rolling his icy eyes and running his fingers through his fringe, Harry’s eyes tracking the motion. “I’m speaking to a right prick.”

Harry frowned and took a few steps back as the boy struggled to climb back over the railing. An amused smirk adorned his features, a single dimple dipping into the left side of his face.The stranger, trying to look intimidating standing in front of Harry, could only make the prince more fond of his fiery behavior. The contrast between his appearance at the moment and personality was only serving to amuse and enamour him. “I hope you get over your hatred of me soon, little one, or else you’ll be in a bit of trouble in the future.”

The boy scoffed, finally noticing the petals in his hair as he tried to pluck them out. “Oh, yes, of course. I’m going to listen to your ‘sage advice’ just because you have a nice face. I don’t think so, darling, and also,” his eyes met Harry’s with a newfound fury, “Don’t ever call me little one again.” He picked up his pad and pen, holding them in his right arm against his hip bone. “Who do you think you are, anyways, the fucking queen?”

“The prince, actually.”

The boy froze, finally taking a solid look at his companion. “Oh,” he winced, “Oh shit. I mean- fuck. No. Your highness…” he trailed, cringing at his turn of behavior. Harry frowned. Before he could say anything else, Louis shook his head and pursed his thin lips, pointing a finger accusingly at the prince. “No. You know what? I respect your role, your highness, I do, but that does not give you the right to sneak up on people and laugh at them when they fall and possibly hurt themselves. An important figure like you should be showing an example of kindness and good humor, right?”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly with each word the boy spoke. It took a moment for the prince to wrap his curls around the one-eighty the boy’s emotions took… Or rather, three-sixty… “What is your name?” he asked, taking his time to take in his companion’s face. He really was quite beautiful.

“Louis Tomlinson.”

_ Louis _ , Harry repeated in his head.  _ Louis _ was absolutely enchanting. His blue eyes resembled that of sky behind him, as if his irises were made of prisms, and the daytime was reflecting through them. His hair was in a disarray from his fall, but it managed to keep an artful feathering to it, and his structure was both sharp and soft in places that Harry found incredibly appealing. Harry also decided that he was quite taken by his little button nose.

“Walk with me, Louis.”

“All right,” Louis mumbled, falling into step with the Harry, who slowed his steps as well. Soon, they were walking at the same pace, wandering the gardens together.

“So, what brings you to my garden without me knowing? You aren't a thief are you?” Harry teased, smiling lazily as they rounded a corner and entered the small maze from Louis’ previous exploration.

Louis lifted himself onto the maze wall and continued the conversation as he walked along. “No, not a thief, though I would be far more wealthy if I was. Maybe I should snatch a few jewels while I'm here.” Louis watched as paranoia flashed across the prince’s face, and he rolled his eyes, patting the young man’s shoulder comfortingly, “It was a joke. Don't worry. No one here seems to understand that concept.”

“What do you mean?”

“I met some of the staff earlier, and one in particular was just as easily frazzled as you are.”

“I'm not easily frazzled, and who did you meet?”

“It was a servant boy named Niall.”

“You've met Niall?” Harry stopped walking, surprise in his voice. Louis nodded slowly as he stopped as well, turning on the wall to face the prince, who chuckled slightly. “Niall is a good friend of mine. I've known him since we were young, but I wouldn't go so far as to call him a servant boy.”

“He was helping to carry in the silver. What is his job?”

“He composed and conducts some of the most beautiful music you have ever heard in your life. He helps with the balls and special events. Why he was carrying in dishes is beyond me.”

“He writes music,” Louis said in awe, stepping down to sit on the maze wall now. Harry’s brows raised for a breath of a moment before he cleared his throat and put his hair behind his ear.

“Do you,” he drawled out the second word, “like music?”

“Who wouldn't? If there were ever such a thing as magic, music would be the heart of it, I think.”

Harry smiled fondly, helping Louis up by taking his hand. As he put his hand on the small of Louis’ back, he said, “Come this way. I think you'll enjoy this.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The two boys weaved their way through the corridors, trying hard to not be noticed. They were giggling amongst themselves like children, warming up to each other as time went on, and eventually, they found themselves standing in front of a massive set of French doors. On the other side, music was playing, but it was muffled.

Harry tapped his shoulder, and when Louis faced him, they were close enough for their breaths to mingle, and Louis pulled back slightly. Harry smirked and put a finger to his lips before putting it to Louis’ own before he lowered the door handle and pushed very slowly.

They looked in through the crack in the doors and Louis put a hand over his mouth to contain his gasp at the orchestra that was just across the ballroom.

“They're practicing for the ball,” Harry explained, observing Louis rather than the orchestra. He heard the orchestra nearly a thousand times he guessed, and he found Louis to be far more captivating.

“They're amazing,” Louis breathed out in an equally hushed tone. The orchestra abruptly stopped as a new figure stepped into the room. Louis recognized him immediately. “Looks like I'll be seeing Niall at work today.”

Harry chuckled, “It appears that way.”

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!” The orchestra replied in a chorus of salutations. “The royal ball is to be held in two weeks time. That means we have no time for lazing about. Now, let’s begin with Beethoven’s Violin Romance Number Two. I said two, Arthur. Remember that!” Everyone in the orchestra laughed good-heartedly at poor Arthur, who joined in.

Then, with an air of professionalism, they all began to play, and it was breathtaking.

Louis found himself swaying slightly to the melody, the soloist flawlessly performing his part. He noticed that Harry’s presence wasn't where it had been lingering next to him, and when he looked behind him, Harry had his hands behind his back, gazing at the floor and letting his shoes glide across the floor in a figure eight sort of motion. His feet would part and then meet once again in rhythm with the song. The windows behind the prince stretched from the floor to the incredibly high ceilings, creating a glow in the open hallway that seemed to just bounce off of him. Louis would paint the image for the rest of his life, given the choice, he decided.

“Do you know how to dance?” The prince asked him as he slowed his movements to face Louis. The latter scrunched his nose and tilted his head a bit to the left.

“My mother tried to teach me when I was young, but I could never get it right. I would always step on her feet and lose track of the counting,” he confessed, a hint of longing in his voice.

Harry and Louis kept their eyes locked for what seemed like years but was only a moment. The prince held his and out and smiled empathetically, understanding the undertones of his words. “Can I try to teach you? I promise I won't get upset. I'll even let you step on my feet the entire time, if you'd like.” He grinned, “It's only a proper punishment for making you fall into the bushes.”

When he saw Harry standing there, offering him a memory that he thought he would never relive, Louis felt his heart do something strange. It didn't stop or drop or leap into his throat. No, it was far less dramatic than that. His heart sighed, but not out of infatuation, not of lust, but of relief... because it felt like it had finally found Harry. It felt like it had been searching for you for ages, and it could finally breathe.

He felt weightless as he floated over to Harry’s arms. He was in a daze as they began to sway in the same pattern as Harry had been performing previously, except now Louis was standing on the prince’s shoes. “Am I scuffing up your shoes?” he asked distantly, eyes still locked with the prince. Harry let a surprised laugh escape his pink lips.

“Probably, but I don't mind.” He put his lips to Louis’ temple and both of them let their eyes flutter shut as Harry spoke barely above a whisper, “Now shh. We can worry about the reality when the song ends.”

They didn't speak much after that. They danced until they couldn't really consider it dancing anymore, but just swaying in place. As the song closed, they came to a gentle stop, still clinging to each other, neither of them looking away.

“Who are you?” Harry asked, the same sort of awe in his voice that Louis had when speaking of music.

“I'm nobody important, Harry-” Louis cut himself off. That is the moment Louis’ heart sank into his stomach. He realized then that he really wasn't anybody important, but Harry wasn't just  _ Harry _ . He  _ was  _ somebody important. He was the prince, for god's sake.

Louis leapt away from Harry as if he was on fire and swallowed, anxiety evident in his expression. Harry stood in place, confusion and hurt evident on him as well. “What happened, Louis? Did I do something wrong?”

“No… Your highness.” Louis bowed slightly, and suddenly Harry was aware of why Louis was acting the way he was.

“Louis-”

“Louis!” a booming voice echoed in the corridor, causing both boys to turn towards the source of it, finding Louis’ father on the far end. “The staff and I have been looking for you for ages! We have to go.”

Louis frowned and faced the prince once more, looking him in the eye with a stony expression as he said “Thank you… For teaching me to dance. It was an honour to meet you. Goodbye, your highness.”

Harry couldn't find words to say as he watched Louis watching him. He knew that Louis was waiting for him to say something, anything, and fuck did he want to, but the words just wouldn't come out. So, he watched Louis leave, his icy eyes melting just a bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wait is over, and the plot is progressing !! Tell me what you think of the story in the comments, and leave kudos. xx

Watching Louis leave settled uncomfortably in the pit of the prince’s stomach. He watched and listened to every step that the boy took away from him, counting them in rhythm with his own heartbeat. It sounded like childish and melodramatic thing to do, but there was something about the him that made Harry feel something he hadn’t felt before, but he had an inkling as to what it might be.

 

The troublesome notion was the fact that Louis seemed to shy away in the blink of an eye. Harry knew why, or at least, he thought he did. Harry was the prince and soon-to-be king, and although it was not strange for Louis to feel the way he did, it was disheartening to Harry who, in the short time that he had spoken to the silversmith’s son, found him to be rather charming.

 

As Louis and his father, along with a guard or two, turned the corner, the prince swung open the doors to the ballroom and startled the orchestra. Niall’s blonde head turned as over his shoulder, his body joining when he noticed the prince.

 

“Your highness!” he called, gesturing for the musicians to silence their instruments. “You look a bit dazed, Harry. Is everything all right?”

 

Harry laced his fingers together and bent the knuckles on both hands, successfully popping the joints in a nervous habit. Though his mouth was set in a stoic line, his eyes were wide and earnest with desperation. “Not as much as it could be, no. You met a boy named Louis today. Do you know from where he came?”

 

Niall’s face flushed at the name and his widened ever-so slightly. The tendons in his neck strained as his bottom lip was pulled down in an almost comedic way, and Harry would have laughed had he not been in the hurry he was.

 

“I don’t recall exactly where he came from. All I know is that he entered the palace from the villages. Liam would know, though. He is organizing the event, after all. Everything and everyone goes through him.”

 

Harry was already speed-walking across the ballroom floor, the bottoms of his boots echoing in the silent room, save for the murmuring among the orchestra. “Thank you, Niall!” he called as he practically ran out of the door and down the hall, leaving the conductor with a furrowed brow and a peaked curiosity.

 

The prince vaguely heard Niall clearing his throat and saying “Again” to his orchestra as he made his way down the corridor. He hurried down the flight of stairs leading to the dining hall, where the silver was being placed temporarily.

 

As Harry entered, he was met with piles of dishes and boxes of tableware stacked from one end of the massive dining table to the other. Though he couldn’t see them, he could hear two distinct voices speaking and laughing on the other side. One of the men was significantly younger sounding and had a much more posh way of articulating his words. Harry recognized it as Liam instantly.

 

“Liam!” He felt rude for interrupting as he made his way frantically around the table, but he couldn’t bring himself to really care. Liam was a man of twenty-five with a small cap seemingly always covering his hair and a thick scruff lining his jaw and mouth. He had the handle of an old, oak cane hoisted up around his wrist, his muscles prominent and bulging beneath the rolled up sleeves of his white button-up. (Harry noted this as a choice to leave his coat aside and approach casually.) His seemingly endless list of priorities and checklists for the ball was clutched in his hands with a quill to write with. His face was the epitome of forced respect, his brown eyes giving away his annoyance, despite the soft smile gracing his features. He and Harry were friends, though, so he chose not to recognize the subtle disrespect.

 

“Prince Harry, what do we owe the pleasure? I was just in the middle of finishing up some business,” he emphasized the last four words, earning an eye roll from the prince, “with these gentlemen. They delivered the crates on the table, your majesty.”

 

Harry’s eyes found the man owning the second voice, an older man with more ragged clothing and some sweat on his brow, and Louis to his left. Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting on his face. His eyes remained trained on Louis’ as he spoke to Liam. “I see. Well, I’m not one to witness hard work and ignore it.” The corners of the prince’s lips turned up as Louis’ dropped down. Harry finally took his eyes off of Louis and turned to what was presumably his father, if the eyes were anything to compare to. “I would like to personally invite you and your son to attend the royal ball being held in three weeks time. It’s the least I can do for putting you through so much effort.”

 

It was obvious that Louis was attempting to mask his shock, but his nose twitched and his eyes most definitely gave him away, wide and reluctantly uninhibited as they were. Harry only smirked at the reaction.

 

Liam gave him an incredulous glance. “Are you sure of that, your highness? We already have the list and exact amount of supplies needed for the guests reserved in advance.” The banquet coordinator shifted his weight, eyeing the prince skeptically as he moved his cane to the ground to lean on it. Louis tore his gaze from Harry and onto Liam, taking him in once more. For a man that could not have even been into his thirties yet, Liam was unnervingly similar to an old man. He had a lingering aura of wisdom, for a lack of better terms. It was obvious that he had witnessed some events that the average man his age probably had not. If he squinted, Louis could make out hints of fading scars on his arms and one particularly notable one on his left temple. He felt an overwhelming urge to ask him to tell him how he got each of them but decided better of it, having a decent amount of self-control.

 

“Yes,” Louis chimed in, nodding curtly to Liam, all heads turning towards him, “There is no need to bother with more work than necessary-”

 

“I doubt that two extra table settings would be much trouble,” Harry’s smile didn’t meet his eyes, but his tone was deceitfully polite. Had Louis not been as perceptive as he was, he wouldn’t have noticed, “Right, Liam?”

 

Liam had a curious, almost impressed look on his face as he examined Louis. He didn’t turn away as he replied to the prince, “If it is your wish, prince Harry, then it shall be done, troublesome or not.” He pointed his free hand that wasn’t holding his cane at

Louis, his eyes bouncing back and forth between him and the prince. “What is your name?”

 

Louis swallowed, and Harry leaned in a fraction of an inch, but thankfully, Louis thought to himself, his father chimed in.

 

“He is my son, and thank you for the offer, your majesty, but we have no time for formal introductions. We have a long journey home, I’m afraid. It is dangerous to be travelling our route in the dark.” Liam glanced at Harry through his peripheral vision, gauging his reaction. He simply raised his brows and let his eyes drift to the silversmith’s son for one breath before he asked,

 

“Oh, and where would home be for you? Maybe we can have some of the guards escort you back.”

 

“That would be far too much, your highness. You’re really too kind,” Louis quipped, his eyes cold and calculating. Harry was beyond confused, but the tone in the boy’s voice ignited something within the pit of his stomach. The prospect of a challenge both questioned his authority and riled him up in the most exquisite form of torture. It was like they were dancing again, only this time in a more rapid, heated tempo, and the prince was fueled by it.

 

Liam thought the whole ordeal was questionable as he watched the scene before him unfold. However, he let it run its course, analyzing the situation.

 

“It’s nothing, really. I like to think I am not like a stereotypical royal,” he said, obvious emphasis or meaning behind his words. Though, strangely enough, there were two contrasting emotions within them as well. The prince sounded almost hopeful or desperate, like he was trying to make the boy in front of him understand something. Liam watched as Louis wrung his hands together, nibbling at his bottom lip.

 

“I never implied such a thing, nor do I consider there to be stereotype for royals. Everyone is different. Although, I don’t really think that it is right for someone like me to get special treatment when it is not deserved.”

 

“My job is to take care of the people of my kingdom.”

 

“When necessary, yes, but this is just two men going hom-”

 

“Well, with the possibility of danger, I deem it necessary to keep you sa-”

 

“I don’t want your pity!”

 

“It isn’t pity! For God’s sake, I don’t understand why you’re suddenly being this way! Just let me _in_! Did you not feel anything between-”

 

“ _Enough_!” Liam all but shouted, stepping between the two young men, who had gravitated closer and closer as their argument heated up. Louis peered over at Harry, confusion swimming in his eyes. His head hurt. This was too much to handle. It didn’t make sense. “You would do well to bite your tongue in the presence of the future king, boy.” Liam’s words were reprimanding, but he had that previous look of intrigue and slight awe.

 

Louis stared back at him, flames wailing behind the blue of his irises. Something about this boy was fascinating. He held a sense of individuality, and, Liam mused in his thoughts, he had a backbone when speaking to the prince. The prince himself appeared to have a similar thought process, albeit he was far more easily frustrated. The whole scenario was enough to make all of their heads spin.

 

“We truly need to get going, but thank you for the offer. We will be sure to consider it,” Sir Tomlinson intervened, attempting to ease the growing tension. “Let’s go,” he grunted to Louis, who knew that he was in for a world of trouble when they were alone.

 

Liam backed away next to the prince and gave a slight bow, his right arm shaking slightly from the weight he put on his cane. “We hope you attend. I’m sorry for the prince’s behavior.” Harry guffawed and was about to protest, but was silenced by Liam’s stern glare. Louis watched his father nod solemnly, bowing lower respectfully and gesturing toward his son, who followed suit.

 

“No need for apologies. It should be my son who is apologizing. He may be too stubborn to do so at the moment, though…” Liam waved his hand dismissively and laughed.

 

“No worries, sir. Have a safe trip.”

 

“Thank you,” Louis said, swallowing thickly before taking his chances to look at the prince through his lashes, only to find him already looking back, “truly. For everything.” Harry nodded. His breath quickening but his face blank.

 

His father nodded and they left after that, climbing onto the bench of the carriage and making their exit, Harry watching from the front entrance of the palace as they did so.

 

“Harry,” Liam’s voice came hesitantly to the prince’s left, “Have you met that boy before?”

 

Harry contemplated his answer, his eyes trailing to the toes of his shoes. “We met today. I… He is quite charming, Liam. You didn’t have the opportunity to meet him before.”

 

Liam’s brown eyes softened as his friend spoke. He put a hand on his shoulder, patting it comfortingly, “Well, if I’m being honest, I find his feistiness rather refreshing.” Harry grinned and faced Liam, opening his mouth to reply, but Liam cut him off. “However,” the prince closed his lips, “he needs to learn to respect authority. I understand that you’re taken with him,” Harry nodded, “but you _are_ the future king. Don’t forget your years of training over a peasant boy.” Harry grimaced at the word peasant, but said nothing. He nodded once more. “Also, the ball is for you to find a spouse. You had your last hurrah, now focus.” Liam sighed as the prince’s face fell, crestfallen as he was reminded of that fact. He put a hand to Harry’s bicep, squeezing reassuringly, “I know this is hard, but you’re a strong person. You’ll figure something out, and if you need to bend the rules a little bit... You know that I, along with Niall and the staff, will help you along the way.”

 

Liam winked with a friendly smile, guiding the pair back through the castle doors.

 

“Thank you, Liam.”

 

“Of course.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was one week later when Harry had fully developed his plan. He had spent the past seven days cooped up in his room, not leaving for anything other than the necessities. It was ridiculous to him that he cared this much, but there was just something that didn’t sit right with the prince.

 

He had thought it over multiple times, mostly at night. It simply did not add up to the young prince. The fact that he was who he was alone should not have made Louis shy away and harden so suddenly the way he did. Normally, people would be tripping over themselves to be with him, but this was entirely different. He took a genuine interest in Harry, and that part was undeniable. There just _had_ to be another reason besides him being the prince that caused him to change so quickly. He was determined to find the real underlying cause because someone that had that sort of an effect on (as the prince soon discovered) almost all of the staff he had met must be, in at least one sense of the word, special. His mother had always told him that every person is given one spark that is special to them in life and that once you have discovered what or who it may be, you must never let anything take it away from you. Harry was not one to believe in coincidence. No, he believed in fate. He believed that things were written in the stars beforehand and were not changeable by any circumstance, although you may be given the illusion that you have the ability to.

 

This belief is what brought Harry to Liam’s temporary office. The supervisor had been stationed there until the ball was set up and in motion, and he spent most of his time in there, sitting on the cushioned chair as not to strain his legs anymore than he had to. When Harry all but stormed in, Liam barely batted an eye. He had been expecting nothing less and was even slightly surprised that he hadn’t come to see him sooner. He put down a stack of letters from the guests and blinked boredly up at the prince. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you were in a rush.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and placed his hands on the wooden desk, leaning towards Liam until he was on the balls of his feet, his eyes ablaze with a kind of determination and focus that he hadn’t had the chance to see in a very long time. “Liam,” he said clearly, no hint of hesitation or relaxation in his voice, “I need a favor from you.”

 

“When has that ever not been the case?” The prince’s eyes rolled once more, a scoff puffing out of his lips.

 

“You and Niall go into the villages sometimes, yes?”

 

“Yes, from time to time.”

“What kind of clothing do the people typically wear?”

 

Liam leaned back in his seat, eyeing the prince with suspicion. “Why?” was all he asked. The prince sucked in a breath, his hands clutching the edge of the desk with enough force to make his knuckles go white. He had no anxiety evident on his being. He stood up straight, looking down at Liam, who took this as an overcompensation for his dignity. He knew the prince was truly afraid of being judged about what he was about to say.

 

“I am going into town, and I need commoners’ clothes so that I am unrecognizable.”

 

There was a pause. Liam smirked and failed miserably in containing his amusement at the air of authority the prince was attempting to show.

 

He chuckled breathily and shook his head, running a hand through his hair, “Why?”

 

Harry grunted, frustrated and impatient, possibly insecure.

 

“I have no obligation to explain myself to you.”

 

“Oh, I think you do,” Liam said, his tone far more solemn this time. “You are the one asking for the favor, not me. I have the choice to say no to you, especially if I am not given a solid reason as to why I would be doing what I was.”

 

Harry put his head in his hands, tipping his head back and letting out a long, calming breath. He scrubbed his hands down his face before facing Liam once again head on. “I am going to dress in commoners’ clothing, Liam. I am going to go to the villages and search for Louis until he agrees to talk to me.”

 

“Are you sure he isn’t going to be put off by your assertiveness, your highness?”

 

“He wasn’t before.”

 

“Who is Louis, anyhow?”

 

Harry smiled involuntarily for a flickering moment, “He’s the silversmith’s son,” he nearly whispered, and Liam’s eyebrows flew up near his hairline, the rest of his face dropping as close to the floor as it could.

 

“He was the little one who didn’t know how to hold his tongue, correct?” He couldn’t help the small smile that graced his lips at the memory of the fiery young man. It wasn’t common that someone was so bold as to speak their mind to anyone of higher class than them. In normal circumstance, it would be highly punishable to speak to royalty or nobility in such a manner, but none of his words were threatening or truly offensive to the prince, who seemed quite taken with him anyways. Liam, in his own opinion, was rather impressed by the boy’s ability to stir the prince from his seemingly constant state of melancholy. Any emotion other than no emotion at all was a delight to his friend. It became more and more clear to the supervisor that this “Louis” boy could possibly be more than simply a silversmith’s son. He could actually help the prince to become a king, even if only for a temporary period of time. In his bones, Liam knew that it would never be able to work out between them. Their worlds were too different, their circumstances too drastic.

 

He gave a sympathetic smile to Harry, standing up from his chair and making his was around the desk, clutching his cane from where it was leaning on the corner. “You are aware that your feelings for the boy must remain temporary or platonic. The chances of you two becoming permanently fixated in each other’s lives is less than slim to none.” Harry stiffened but nodded, his lips pursed in a firm line and his brows furrowed.

 

“I understand, but I need closure.” Liam and Harry stared at one another for what could have been any number of minutes, Liam scanning for hesitation, Harry keeping his stance. Liam nodded once.

 

“All right,” he smiled, walking over to the door and swinging it open and stepping out with the prince hot on his heels. “What do we need to do?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry was completely out of his element. His job required him to take care and watch over the commoners of the kingdom. Nowhere in that description did it mention being pushed to the side of a busy dirt road and nearly drowning in his own sweat underneath what had to be an inappropriate amount of clothing for the middle of June.

 

Sensing the prince’s indignation, Liam gave him a small smile and patted the area between his shoulder blades, all the while guiding him to the hub of the village: the market. “In your defense, Harry, I have gained some respect for how much effort you are putting into this.”

 

“Don’t humor me,” Harry grumbled. His voice slightly muffled by the cloak shielding his face from any commoners who would recognize him, “I’m getting strange looks.”

 

“Well, you do look rather frightening. It reminds me of a witch from an old folk’s tale.”

 

“And whose choice was that? Not mine, surely!” Harry threw his (heavy) arms into the air in exasperation, his voice raising a decibel and causing a few people to turn their heads in concern. Liam grinned at them, not missing a beat as he stopped the pair in front of a small establishment. It was a cottage-style building with a sign hanging off of the door frame that read “The Golden Egg”. Harry gave his friend a questioning side glance that was responded with an encouraging smile and Liam explaining, “This is the main hub of the town. Everyone knows everything, here. Someone will know Louis, and if not him, then they’ll surely know his father.” Harry nodded with no verbal reply, and the two men stepped through the door.

 

Live music and unabashed vulgar language filled their ears almost instantly. Liam was seemingly unfazed by the rowdy atmosphere surrounding him. The prince, on the other hand, felt he was suffocating and possibly in a dangerous situation. Liam scoffed and took Harry by the forearm, saying something that Harry was unable to register before he was being dragged to a line of empty bar stools.

 

Empty pints lined the table in front of them, obviously abandoned for something more interesting. As soon as they had settled down into the rickety seats, a burly man with bulging biceps and a contrastingly bulging stomach approached them, scratching the scruff on his face absentmindedly. “What can I get for you?” he boomed as a greeting, making Harry flinch and Liam lean forward a bit.

 

“Two glasses of your finest scotch would be great, thanks.” The man nodded with a closed-lip smile before disappearing somewhere to their left once more.

 

“Who are we possibly going to ask for help, Liam? Everyone here looks rather…” He trailed off as his eyes caught a worker spit into a man’s pint while he wasn’t watching, sliding it over to him with a deceivingly polite smile when he grasped his attention once more. He gulped, “unscrupulous.”

 

Liam frowned at Harry, bringing the cracked glass up to his lips, his face contorting for a moment as he swallowed, “I can see where you would be hesitant, your highness, but I guarantee someone here will know of the Tomlinsons’ whereabouts.”

 

“Pardon me,” a smooth, rumbling voice, a voice far too articulate sounding for this type of setting, interjected from behind Liam. Both men turned to find a young man around somewhere around their ages. He had sharp features all around, complemented by dark skin and golden eyes. His face was settled into curiosity and slight vigilance that was barely hidden under the surface. “Did you say you were looking for the Tomlinsons’ silversmith shop?”

 

Liam pulled Harry’s shoulder back slightly, a habit when they were confronted by strangers, “Yes, we did. Why? Do you know them?” The man nodded, his eyes darting to Liam’s protective grip before going back to his face.

 

“I do, though I can't recall ever seeing you two around this area.”

 

Harry felt his heart begin to drum rapidly in his chest, and he was thankful at that moment for his shaking hands being hidden. He opened his mouth to reply, most likely with something ludicrous, but Liam spoke up, tightening his grip even more. “We’re travelling is why. We’re merchants, you see.” He lied with a sense of practiced ease that worried Harry a little bit.

 

The man arched a thin brow, his lip curling into a skeptical pout. “What would two travelling merchants need with a silversmith?”

 

“This one here,” he replied, taking his palm off of the prince’s shoulder to clap his arm with it, “has an irrational fear of germs. It’s quite crippling to say the least. He simply refuses to eat with the tableware given at the bed and breakfasts. I would say that it’s humorous, but I would be lying. It’s a drag.” he explained, and Harry was almost impressed with how quickly-tongued Liam was. He was lying straight through his teeth, and apparently, it was working. The man’s face relaxed and gave Harry a sympathetic smile, patting his knee.

 

“I know the feeling. I have a horrible fear of blood myself. It’s quite embarrassing at times.”

 

“Fear is nothing to be ashamed of,” Harry said clearly, making both of his companions flinch at the sudden outburst, “I respect any person who is willing to share their fears. It makes it less terrifying if there is someone there to listen. You just need to let them hear you.” Time seemed to stop for five seconds. There was no noise, no movement, no facial features changing for the sake of emotion. Harry knew realistically that the world was still in motion, but something about the words he said cut deep into him. They came from his vocal chords, but he didn’t say them. He was sure that something had possessed him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. The world began to come back into motion. Their acquaintance had both brows raised now, blinking rapidly. He felt Liam’s hand slip away from him as well.

 

“Wise words,” was all he said before pulling his own pint up to his lips, Harry and Liam just now registering its existence. They pulled their own drinks to their lips, the prince’s face contorting at the burn that ran down his throat. He never drank anything aside from wine and champagne. After a comfortable silence between the three of them, music and chatter fading slightly into a melodic background volume, the man sighed and stretched out his hand to both of them. “My apologies for scrutinizing you. I’m Zayn. I’m a friend of the silversmith’s son.” Both men perked up at the fact.

 

“Are you? Does that mean that they live around here?” Harry asked, trying to mask his eagerness with indifference and failing miserably. Zayn leaned back slightly, jabbing his thumb to their left.

 

“They do, just down the road there. It’s a small building, but it’s homely and open. It doubles as both their home and their workplace. Do you need some help getting there? Louis may enjoy me stopping by. It’s been a while.”

 

Harry was already standing up, slapping some money onto the bar table, and Zayn’s eyes widened after giving the bills a cursory glance. The prince smiled, teeth still shining brightly from under the shade of his hooded cloak. “That sounds lovely. We should get a move on, shall we? The sun will begin setting soon, I believe.”

 

Liam and Zayn followed suit, standing cautiously in case of another outburst from Harry. “I’m Liam and this is Edward, by the way,” Liam introduced, and Harry detected the cheaply masked annoyance in his tone. If Zayn noticed it, then he didn’t show it because he laughed lightheartedly and waved his hand in a dismissive manner.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. No worries. This way?” he said, guiding them out of the door that they came in. They walked along the dirt pathways from which they had stepped onto only an hour ago, weaving through the masses of people, which had lessened, even if only by a slight number.

 

The trio made a sharp right turn about two minutes into their stroll, making idle talk about superficial topics such as the weather and their business.

 

“What do you do, Zayn? You seem far more educated than the citizens we have come across so far,” Liam asked, genuinely curious. Harry felt the same way, but said nothing as he awaited Zayn’s reply.

 

The man’s jaw tightened, defining it more than it had been previously. “I am more of a pawn then anything else. Do you know of Javaad Malik?”

 

“The duke?”

 

“Yes, the duke. I have the unfortunate pleasure of being his whore.”

 

“Excuse me?” Harry asked, not believing the profanity that Zayn was using against himself. He smirked darkly and shook his head, not taking the chance to glance at Liam or Harry.

 

“He has been trying to marry me off to multiple men and women. I want a career for myself, but it seems that the trophy bachelor for nobility is all I’ll ever be. He never actually makes me marry them. He seduces rich men’s sons and daughters on my behalf and pressures me to sleep with them or woo them. In the end, it always turns out that their daddies always make business deals with my father, get scammed, and end up broke and brokenhearted.” Zayn took a deep breath, his eyes darkening, “It’s a cruel and vicious cycle.”

 

Everyone was silent once more. Zayn groaned and shook his head vigorously, “I don’t know why I shared that with you. If my head wasn’t attached to my neck, it would fall right off, I’m sure.”

 

“We _have_ been drinking a bit,” Liam murmured, a hint of disgust in his words. “I would never suspect such a thing from Sir Malik.”

 

“How do you know him?” Zayn asked, leaning forward to look around Harry at Liam, who explained in yet another lie that they had done a different type of business with him some years ago. He accepted that answer, and Harry spoke up just after.

 

“How do you know the Tomlinsons?” The last name felt strange rolling off of his tongue.

 

Zayn’s expression softened just the slightest bit, and the prince examined him with laser focus. “They weren’t a wealthy family by any means, but Louis, their son, his mother’s side of the family was. She had died some months before and Louis was left a hefty amount of money in her passing. Of course, my bastard of a father was on it in a heartbeat, swindling them the best he could. When Louis and I were alone, he saw right through us. He refused to be swayed, and to this day, he is the only victim that I ever told of my father’s plots.” Zayn grinned, nostalgia and fondness radiating off of him. “I lied to my father, telling him that Louis was going to take a bit of work, but of course, it was only an excuse to keep seeing one another. It was strictly platonic between the two of us. Louis made that clear enough, and eventually, my father gave up, and Louis and I became as close as two men can be. I’m very protective of him.” Zayn said his last statement flatly, giving Liam and Harry pointed looks, then apologetic ones. “Hence my behavior before. Again, I’m sincerely sorry.”

 

Harry nearly teared up. Nearly. He would have to remember to invite Zayn to the ball and un-invite his father when he returned to the palace.

 

“You’re very brave,” Harry complimented, “Standing up to your father is almost impossible, especially if he is someone of great power like that.” Harry stared at the ground as if it had insulted him, and he felt Liam’s hand pat his reassuringly.

 

Zayn hummed in agreement, guiding them to turn to their left. In front of them stood a short but wide building. The front was completely open, a workshop set up both inside and out, if you could call the inside and inside at all. It was more of a covered porch. There were shelves of polished silver and tools scattered on rickety, wooden countertops. A table and a few chairs sat under the glorified porch, presumably where business was done. The money was nowhere in sight, though. A pot of tea sat on the table, two small, chipped cups accompanying it. Steam swirled into the air, still hot and fresh. The building was obviously wide and far back, it was easy to tell. There appeared to be an attic or very small second story with a singular, round window in the center of it. This was Louis’ home, Harry registered as they stopped walking.

 

“Daniel isn’t home, it seems,” Zayn stated blankly. “Louis must be running the shop today. Otherwise, his father would be working away.” He turned to his companions with an amused smirk, “Louis isn’t the best at keeping a job together. He’s easily distracted, I’m afraid.”

 

Both men chuckled slightly. Zayn held up a slender finger before walking up to a door further into the workshop. “Louis!” he called, hands cupped around his mouth. The prince’s heart swooped into his stomach when a raspy voice replied excitedly, yet unintelligibly from the other side. “Come down here and pretend that you missed me!”

 

Immediately, rapid movement was heard from above, footsteps lowering to ground level quickly, and soon, the door was swinging open and a small figure wrapped itself tightly around Zayn’s lean torso. There was murmured conversation, and the pair at the front door stayed in place swaying in a small circle and laughing to themselves as they greeted one another. They looked like lovers, and Harry’s jaw clenched briefly. Liam swatted his stomach painfully, earning a pained groan from the prince. It was only then that the smaller person processed the two other people there.

 

Louis’ face appeared as he pulled apart from Zayn, a hand still on his arm as he observed the new people in front of him. His face grew pale as he recognized Liam, and he visibly swallowed as his eyes drifted (with blaring reluctance) to the blob of cloth standing next to him. His face contorted in confusion, pulling away slightly.

 

“Zayn,” he said, pointing at the two gentlemen, “Who are they?”

 

“This is Liam and Edward. They’re merchants. They need to buy silver for a reason I’d rather not get into right now.”

 

“Edward?” Louis smiled, sheer amusement on his face that made Harry flush. He sauntered up to Liam and Harry, the shit-eating grin never leaving his face. The little bastard was milking this for all it was worth. “Lovely to meet the two of you, I’m Louis Tomlinson. Please, do step into my office.” Zayn laughed at his friend’s sarcasm, Liam faking one, and Harry staying eerily silent.

 

They followed Louis to the aforementioned table and sat down, waiting as Louis grabbed some parchment and a quill from the counter and joining them. He leaned forward with a condescending amount of enthusiasm. “What do you need? We just finished a new stock of dishes if you need them. A teapot, perhaps? Speaking of, have a cup!” He poured the tea into the cups and slid them over to the nobles before they could even blink. Liam was growing more and more tickled by the situation as time went on. He was enjoying Harry’s demise as well, it seemed.

 

“Sir, it is hard to talk business if you have so much fabric covering your face. You have nothing to hide here. Don’t worry, if you have a horrible gash or love bite on your jaw, I won’t tell a soul.” He winked, sending Zayn and Liam into a fit of giggles, and Harry’s fists clenched under the table. He hated that he found Louis’ patronizing so attractive. He was going to be the death of him,  he was sure.

 

Liam watched with bated breath as Harry contemplated taking off his cloak. It was blazing hot outside, so there was no reason for him to use the excuse of being cold. He sighed heavily as he grimaced and slid the hood of his cloak onto his back. He heard Zayn gasp from somewhere behind him, and Louis’ eyes glued themselves to him, hardening. His lips fell into a disapproving smirk.

 

“Well, it’s nice to put a face to the name, _Edward_. Let’s talk business.” He emphasized the name with heavy sarcasm. Everyone was shocked by Louis’ change in demeanor and the fact that he continued to play the odd game at hand. Harry slipped the extra fabric entirely, letting his shirt droop down to reveal his chest. His face went stoic, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. Liam and Zayn looked on in intense curiosity. “Is there anything you would like to know about our business or our products?”

 

“I’d like to know more about your business.”

 

“My business?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What would you like to know?”

 

“Why is it so distant from other… businesses?”

 

“Isolation comforts me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It leaves less room for fatal mistakes among people. It’s quite common for them to lie or be overbearing or disappointing.”

 

“Being involved with other people makes you uncomfortable?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

 

“Yes, but not because you're a person, but because you're _you_.”

 

“I see.” Harry said with finality. The silence that followed the statement was flooded with tension like an overflowing dam. Blue eyes were locked to green ones, their expressions scarily identical in terms of intensity and determination not to crack. The other two men in the room were barely breathing, unaware of the forthcoming events.

 

Ten seconds passed, then twenty, then thirty, then forty, and when just over a minute had passed, Louis spoke again.

 

“Harry, I want you to leave.”

 

“Not until I have closure. Why are you rejecting me so suddenly?”

 

“Are you really this childish?” Louis quipped. “Just because someone doesn’t grovel at your feet doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world. What happened between us was absolutely lovely. It was. Truly.” His face gradually fell into one of melancholy with each few words he spoke. “Some people just don’t believe in fairy tales, Harry. Not everyone can just _believe_ that life will come to them that easily. In the real world, people actually have the unfortunate possibility of judgement and rejection. Real people have fears.”

 

“You don’t think that I’m a real person?” Harry shouted, his face and chest flushing red in anger. “You think that I’m not afraid of being judged and ridiculed? I am going to be king someday, Louis. _King_ . You don’t believe that I’m scared shitless?” His voice was breathy and high, his anxiety evident. Louis felt like he was staring into a reflection of his inner self. “I’m terrified, Louis. If you’re afraid of rejection and scrutiny, then that makes two of us. How do you think I felt when you accepted me so fluidly, so naturally for how I was outside of a formal event, only to be literally pushed away moments later. I was confused and scared and _crushed_. Louis, my dear,” he swept up Louis’ shaking hands into his own. “If your fear is that you will be alone, then why on Earth would you force it upon yourself and pretend that it’s better?”

 

Louis’ hands were shaking violently now, his eyes not knowing where to focus, his breaths uneven and shallow. “Harry, I want you to leave,” he repeated. His voice was so so small and timid. Harry knew better now. He knew that Louis didn’t truly want him to leave. He threw Louis’ hands back and howled in frustration. Everyone flinched back.

 

Harry wanted to scream. He wanted to choke Louis for being so stubborn and shield him from the world so he would never look as terrified as he did right then. One look into Louis’ frightened eyes and the prince froze, time stopping once more.

 

Harry’s hands fell to his sides, jaw clenched. “I'm commissioning you."

 

“ _What?_ ” The three other people in the room called out with varying emotion.

 

Louis’ face altered dramatically. “Do you not have someone to paint your self portraits at the castle?”

 

The prince’s face was unnervingly calm. “He travels.”

 

Louis became nervous. “Wouldn't that cost him his job?”

 

“He travels.” Harry repeated. Louis bit his lip, and Harry could see the war going on in his head, like he had a choice in the matter. “Louis,” he addressed the young man who looked him in the eye. “You’re coming to the palace. If you protest, we both will know that you are only lying to yourself.”

 

Zayn looked ready to wail on Harry, but Liam shot up from his chair and mutedly spoke to Zayn, saying something that calmed him down, though his eyes still bore into the back of Harry’s head.

 

Louis’ breath evened out, and the ghost of a smile graced his lips as he nodded.   


 

“As you wish, your majesty.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These updates have been far apart. I realize this, but DON'T WORRY. School is about to end for me, so I will be updating far far far more frequently. That being said, I hope you are enjoying the story !! Please tell me what you think in the comments and leave kudos !!

“Unbelievable. This is absolutely unfathomable. Look at them, Amelia! I would put money on it that they will be hitting the wall with a bedpost in three days maximum.”

 

“Niall! Would you please take a moment to not think with your penis and consider that love is about  _ more  _ than just  _ sex _ ?”

 

The composer scoffed and shoved the maid lightly. The group of people huddled behind them in the kitchen rippled with laughter.

 

Outside of the rather large windows, Prince Harry and a boy, Louis, were wandering the outskirts of the gardens, Harry putting a large hand between the latter’s shoulderblades to guide him to a patch of unusual blue flowers. It was noticeable enough that there was a chorus of delicate gasps when the prince leaned in more than necessary to explain something to Louis, most likely some nonsense about the flowers that was also most likely untrue. Events of this nature had been ongoing for the entirety of Niall’s investigation.

 

You see, for the past twenty minutes or so, Niall had been following Harry and Louis around the castle. He, along with many of the other staff members, had come up with the conspiracy that the prince and the silversmith’s boy were on the brink of romance, if one had not begun already. Niall had taken it upon himself to observe the pair so that he could make a final decision on whether the rumors were fact or fiction.

 

While most of the staff was relieved to have something interesting going on in the castle, Liam Payne was on the opposing side. Not to say that he did not believe the rumors. In fact, him believing in them was the problem. Being the pragmatic man he was, Liam had joined Niall in his mission of sorts, but he had a very different motive about him. Niall rooted for the pair, and Liam wanted it eliminated for multiple, logical reasons.

 

Again, Niall was hoping that the Prince and the silversmith’s boy would work out, but on the other hand, he had developed an infatuation to the commoner boy in his own sort of way. Louis had made it a point to find Niall and converse with him each day he was there, as well as the other workers in the castle. Over the course of the six days that Louis had been “commissioned”, Niall had turned into a right mess when he spoke to Louis or vice versa. He was quick-witted, spontaneous, and alarmingly beautiful to the composer, and to certain degree, it frightened him. He hoped that his infatuation wouldn’t grow to a very unrequited, very unattainable sort of love. Louis was wonderful, despite his imperfections that Niall also found incredibly endearing. He was a tad clumsy and had little freckles that lined his nose and cheeks, but they added character more than anything.

 

There is a lot that you can learn about a person in six days if you give yourself the chance to, Niall supposed.

 

Instead of dwelling in his personal feelings and self-pity, Niall focused on putting his energy to good use. He knew that Louis and Harry were very good for each other. They balanced out one another, and Niall felt that it was his duty to make sure that they got together, no matter what.

 

Liam was present in the cluster of employees as well, biting his nails with a frown all the while.

 

The staff murmured positive and negative comments regarding the two boys outside. They were all the epitome of intrigued as they tracked each of their movements, like moths to a light.

“Do you think that he knows?” a woman’s voice rose up from somewhere to Niall’s left.

 

“Do I think who knows what?” a man’s gruff voice replied from the same area. The woman sighed and there was an out-of-place bubbling noise coming from somewhere more distant. No one paid it any mind.

 

“The little one with the cheekbones, do you think he knows that the prince is in love with him?”

 

The room’s hearts swooped at the words, small smiles peeking on their lips.

 

“No,” Niall interjected. “He is too infatuated with him to notice.” The room sighed, and a small series of clinking noises were heard, but again, no one paid any attention to it.

 

There was a lull in the conversation as Louis slipped away from Harry and wandered over to one of the statues lining the path. He pointed to it and looked over his shoulder to ask Harry a question, beauty etched into the confused creases in his face. The prince nearly jogged (but a prince was not to hurry for anyone) to the boy’s side, replacing his hand on the boy’s back once more, this time the slightest bit lower.

 

A loud crash erupted in the kitchen then, and everyone cried out in panic. The staff fanned out in all directions as the two boys outside turned to look into the castle. Niall and Liam, not knowing what else to do, waved out of the window with awkward and too-large grins on their faces. Harry mouthed to them, asking if they were all right, to which they both nodded and waved him off. Louis looked concerned, deeply so, and he put a hand to his lips as another crash and chorus of screeches was heard. Niall and Liam stayed where they were, grinning and waving until the pair walked out of the windows’ view, presumably into the stables.

 

As soon as they disappeared, both of them turned around to find the kitchen in chaos.

 

“What the hell is going on?” Liam yelled over the sound of metal clambering around and people talking apprehensively across the room to one another. Amelia ran up to them with a platter of charcoal (though they could have been biscuits at one point), her curly red hair poking out of her up-do in all directions.

 

“The kitchen was left unattended for too long! All of the soups are overflowing and the food is being burned!” With that, she ran off into the sea of panicked chefs once more.

 

Niall, having just processed the chain of events that just occurred, laughed hysterically, clinging to the walls for support as he made his way out into the main hall. Liam clutched his black shirt near his chest, taking a deep breath as he looked towards the heavens with closed eyes. The staff was still running and tripping around him as he prayed, “Sweet Lord, if you’re looking at me right now, I just want to let you know that this wasn’t my fault…” he sobbed once pathetically, “...and help me.” he rubbed the temples of his forehead as he made his leave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The evening was beginning to show its blushing face as Harry and Louis made their way back from the stables. Evidence of laughter lay in the apples and lines of their cheeks, and they were walking closer together than they had ever done before, not that either of them commented on such a small detail.

 

“You have certainly impressed me, your majesty,” Louis complimented, following suit when Harry gracelessly plopped himself onto the grass of a small pasture, watching the horses roam around in their recreational time.

 

“How so?” the prince replied, dimples prominent as he spoke.

 

Louis shrugged, “You proved me wrong, in a way. You are not even close to what I expected you to be.”

 

“What did you expect me to be?”

 

“Untouchable.”

 

That statement hit Harry like a punch. Of all of the things he had expected to hear, untouchable hadn’t crossed his mind. He didn’t reply, settling for looking ahead at the sun visibly sinking into the horizon. They both watched as the sky changed colors before them from a timid pink to an unashamed, blinding red. It was sudden, the change in emotions that the sky held. Alongside the red there was faded hues of yellow and orange, and as the sun grew further away, purple and blue made their appearance. It was its own sort of rainbow, mesmerizing in the most ordinary of ways.

 

Harry wasn’t exactly sure how long he had been sitting there, but to see the sky go from red to blue indicated that it had been a while. The moon was beginning to show its face among the awaiting stars, and the prince wondered what it would be like to grab one of the twinkling spots. He hoped that if he was ever given the chance, the dust and light would explode and ignite within his veins, filling in the darkest parts of his being. He would be a galaxy within himself. He didn’t have an answer as he asked himself exactly what that meant, but as his mind drifted to the boy next to him, he began to think that he was figuring it out.

 

“When I was little, my mother used to say that sunsets weren’t for the living,” Louis spoke barely above a whisper, the moment fragile in his mind. “She said that since artists saw the world more intricately than others, the moon gave them the sky as their final canvas before they had to say goodbye.” Harry faced Louis, his face softening when his eyes landed on the young man laying on the grass, one eye closed and the other open, his hand wielding a paintbrush and giving absentminded strokes into the air. His satchel sat on his lap, a familiar sketchbook and an array of pens and brushes spilling out onto the ground. “She said that all sunsets have last-minute messages in them, and when I die, I hope I’m given the opportunity, too.”

 

Louis’ eyes remained fixated above them, watching the flawlessly blending colors of the sky, a sunset that someone may only be able to witness once in a lifetime, and Harry decided that it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. He decided that sunsets were his favorite color.

 

“What would you want to say?” The prince asked, hyperaware of the heat radiating from Louis’ hand onto his own from just a few inches away. 

 

“I have no idea,” he replied, his voice distant in an awestruck sort of way, like he was seeing the world for the first time. “To me, my sunset isn’t going to be there to make people think it’s pretty; it’s going to make a point. I want it to make people feel something, you know, fill in the empty spaces of people’s hearts after I’ve gone, should there be any.”

 

That’s when it was all over for Harry. He knew the answer to his question. Before he could stop the words from spilling out, he asked, “Can I hold you?”

 

Louis’ eyes immediately hardened as he narrowed them at the prince. “What?”

 

“I just… I want to see something,”

 

“You aren’t going to try to woo me first? I am scandalized, your highness,” he gasped with feigned horror in his tone, the corner of his lips raising a bit. The tension dissipated and the stars fluttered in amusement.

 

Harry rolled his eyes and stood up, wiping the dirt from the back of his trousers with his hands. “Forget I said anything, you menace.”

 

Louis scrambled to his feet, his satchel and art supplies tumbling down. “Wait!” he called, then pursed his lips when Harry looked at him, green settling on blue. “You can hold me, but it doesn’t mean anything. It can _ not _ mean anything. Are we clear?”

 

Harry smiled, rivaling the light of the moon and nodded. Louis took a visible breath, stepping over his bag and walking towards the prince. The moment was tense again but in a very different way. It was like Louis was slowly taking down the pieces of one of his walls instead of watching them be torn to pieces. He was terrified, not of Harry, but of the prince, of the implications of holding someone when you’re alone in a beautiful place such as this. He was afraid of feeling something that he wasn’t allowed to.

 

Harry was only afraid that Louis was going to run from him again.

 

They stood in front of each other, toes of their shoes touching, waiting for one to make another movement. It was just an embrace, but for both of them, it was a defining moment.

 

Harry moved first, lacing his arms around Louis’ waist and resting his face against the slope of the boy’s neck and shoulder.

 

Words can only describe so much, but those stars that Harry wondered about? They were there, and he swear that he saw himself glowing.

 

It was clear that Louis was more than a person, he was a star on his own. In Harry’s arms, they created a whole universe. He hoped that he could see them bursting with color, too.

 

There was silence, but Harry’s veins were screaming, and Louis’ heartbeat was racing. Heat was shooting between them like a wildfire that couldn’t stop spreading. It was too much, far too much, but Louis let himself fall into it, and Harry craved the burn of it.

The gesture was so unimportant, so ordinary, but it really wasn’t.

 

As the flames began to go out, the prince and the silversmith’s boy swayed side to side, the ambers that were left in their chests warm and unwavering.

 

“Oh no, not this dancing nonsense again,” Louis tried to tease, but his words came out in a tired sort of fondness that he wanted to run away from but couldn’t. He felt the vibration of the prince’s chest as he chuckled, and his arms tightened around Harry’s neck.

 

“Shh,” Harry gently demanded. “Here we are, dancing for the artists and the moon.”

 

“I hope they approve,” Louis’ whisper was laced with soft laughter.

 

“They do,” Harry nodded against the progressively familiar scent of incense on Louis’ clothes. A momentary thought crossed his mind that he would one day like to lean in and smell his own cologne on Louis. It passed in the breeze that approached them. He repeated himself: “They do.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the clock struck in the distance, Harry and Louis walked back to the castle in silence. Louis was confused, and Harry was overwhelmed. They said nothing as they parted ways at the corrider seperating their chambers, and they both collapsed onto their beds, their minds racing at millions of miles an hour.

 

As all of this had been going on, the staff was going about their final chores of the day. Since the rehearsals had been over and done with, Niall had chosen to stick to Liam’s side for the remainder of the day. For the majority of it, Liam had been sitting in his office dealing with taxes and ball planning. It wasn’t until the sun went down that Niall said something that wasn’t nonsense.    


 

“Liam! Harry and Louis are coming back inside!” Liam turned in his chair and scanned the area outside of his windows, searching. It didn’t take him long before he saw two figures stepping into view under the lights hung above the pathways. He grunted and sighed, shaking his head before going back to work. Niall had stood up and walked to the middle window by then, watching with barely-contained melancholy.

 

“Frowns don’t suit you, Niall. Why are you wearing one?” Liam asked, not glancing up from the thank you letter he was writing to a duke from their kingdom for agreeing to attend the ball.

 

Niall sighed, tearing his gaze away from the two retreating figures and placing it on the sky. “Louis is just… he’s lovely, is all.”

 

“Then why don’t you court him?” Liam said with a scoff, his tone only half-joking. It was obvious from the start that Liam hadn’t approved of Harry taking an interest in the silversmith’s boy. In fact, Liam had been furious on the inside when he had arrived at the castle. He ha agreed to help the prince, but only because he knew the relationship, should there even be one to begin with, was doomed.

 

Niall crossed his arms, retreating to his chair across from Liam but not sitting. “Well, he belongs with Harry, obviously. They’re good for each other.”

 

“It does not matter if they are soulmates or a perfect match or whatever you fantasize them to be, Niall. They cannot be together. It’s simply the way things are.”

 

“But why?” Niall argued with a humorless laugh, “As much as I would love to take Louis to nice dinner parties and hold his hand in the streets, him and Harry have an unfathomable connection. There is no reason why they should not be allowed to-”

 

“Niall, you know that the prince is just getting his last taste of freedom before the ball.” Niall said nothing, hanging his head with a furious look. “Whether he knows it or not, Harry is just using him as a final act of rebellion before he has to choose a bride. That’s why we’re holding the ball, Niall, and you know that.”

 

Niall sat in his chair, the air suddenly growing cold around his fingertips and nose. Liam realized how horrible he sounded, and when he met Niall’s eyes, he said nothing, but he shook his head and somewhat repeated himself. “It’s simply the way things have to be.”

 

Niall sighed, “This is so fucked up.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not only had the staff begun to notice Louis and the prince’s blooming interactions, but the king had as well. Harry’s father had always been a kind ruler, never gripping the kingdom with an iron fist, so to speak. However, he had always been a man to stay with a plan once he had it set in stone. He could see it in the way his son spoke of the “commissioned artist” that there was something more in his heart than business, something that the king had no time to fool around with. That is why, the next day, he sent for Harry to see him in the dining hall.

 

“Harry,” he had said when his son approached him, long limbs walked with a sense of trained poise he had acquired through years of practice. “I want to talk to you about something.”

 

The prince gave his father a puzzled look, but mumbled an “of course, father” before meeting his steps and walking beside the king. They stepped into the kitchen, which was empty at this time of day due to the staff having a meeting for the royal ball menu plans.

 

The sun streamed into the gigantic room, light reflecting off of the pots and pans settled in various places for later use. The room smelled of baked bread and fresh wine, and the king took a deep breath before he stopped in front of a shelf of expensive wines and began to speak. “Did you know that I always wanted to learn to cook when I was a boy?”

 

Harry cautiously found his way to his father’s side, furrowing his brows at him. “No. Did you not learn how?”

 

The king shook his head, reading the labels of each wine, occasionally taking one down to examine it.

 

“Well, why not?” Harry inquired, staying put. The king exhaled heavily through his nose, pausing his motions and putting down the bottle he was holding. He gave his son a tight-lipped smile and said with serious intent dripping off of each word.

“Because I had duties that I had to focus on as the future king.”

 

Harry held his breath, and the king picked up the bottle once more, a deep red that Harry couldn’t pronounce the name of, and plucked the corkscrew off of the wall.

 

“I could not allow myself to be distracted by the things I wanted when there were things that I needed to do. It was for the good of the kingdom, and it was good for me.”

 

The king thought that he could hear the cogs turning in Harry’s head. He continued, opening the bottle as he talked. “I decided that if I did not let myself become attached to something that I could never do, then it would leave me a much happier man in the end.   
  


Harry felt stupid for not realizing what his father meant sooner. His face hardened, and he backed away from the king as he watched him pour himself a goblet of the wine. “I have to go, father. I appreciate us talking.”

He left without uttering a goodbye, and as heavy as the king’s heart felt, he hadn’t expected much more from his son.

 

As Harry stormed out of the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks when he was met by the entire kitchen staff giving him sympathetic looks. Among them was Liam, who held a blank expression, but his thumb was twitching on his cane in anxiety.

 

Harry’s lip curled in, his eyes aflame with hurt and rage and embarrassment as he shouted, “Why are you all standing around? The ball is in two weeks. Figure out what you have to do!” The staff hung their heads, but he could hear them murmuring about how sad it was, and he was growing more and more confused, and it only fueled his anger. By the time the staff had all entered the kitchen, Liam was stills standing across from him.

 

“What, Liam? Why are you looking at me like I’m being ignorant?”

 

“Because you  _ are  _ being ignorant, Harry,” Liam scolded, walking up to him, cane thumping on the floor rhythmically. “You are being childish. You’ve only known the boy for what, a little over one week? You can’t just keep playing with your toys, hoping that you’re going to get your way! You have to do your-”

 

A loud crack echoed in the dining hall.

 

Liam held a hand to his face, his cane slipping a bit before Liam gripped it tightly. There was a small gasp and suddenly hands were on his shoulders. “Liam I’m so sorry. I just-”

 

“Listen,” Liam said, an eerie calmness in his voice. He looked up into Harry’s eyes. “You are going to be king soon. You are picking the person you want to marry at the ball in two weeks. I understand that you are more emotional than your father. I understand that love means more to you,” Liam’s face darkened, and Harry saw then the military leader that he had never witnessed his friend become in the last five years. This was it. This was the terrifying authority that the knights of his kingdom talked about in the courtyards. Harry refused to back down, but his respect failed to waver. “But you need to get a grip. If you care for a boy this deeply after six days, then you should care enough to let him go home. It will save him from heartbreak, and it will save you from comparing him to everyone you meet at the ball.”

 

Harry had never been a fan of the “one who got away” stereotype, but he understood what Liam was saying. He understood it, but he was going to be king dammit, and they could call him a spoiled child, but he could do what he felt was right.

 

“He makes me feel different, Liam, like a better person. He makes me want to be nice and makes me want to  _ try  _ for once. Hasn’t that always been the problem?”

 

Liam sighed, “You have always been nice, Harry. You just need to know your limits. You are not the king yet. Remember your place. You will be much happier in the end.”

 

He was sick of hearing that. He was sick of it. As he saw Liam’s figure walking away, he felt utterly betrayed. Liam was his friend. He said that he would always help him, no matter what. They made a promise when they were just children with Niall that they would always stick together, and now, this is where they were.

 

“It took a week for you to break a promise, Liam.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Liam sounded tired, more than anything. He sounded like he was just done with the whole situation.

 

“When we were young children, you promised me and Niall that you would always stay on my side. It only took you a week to break that promise. Why?”

 

Liam stopped and didn’t turn around as he replied, “I  _ am  _ on your side, Harry. You just don’t realize that yet.”

 

Harry had never felt more alone than he did standing alone in that room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments ?? Kudos ?? What do you think is going to happen ?? What do you WANT to happen ?? I have the story planned out, and I promise the chapters won't all be as continuously heavy as this one was. Tell me what you think !!


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